


Love is an open bar

by applefish



Category: Rise of the Guardians (2012)
Genre: BlackIce Week, Bribery, M/M, Snuggling
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-02-11
Updated: 2014-07-03
Packaged: 2018-01-11 22:17:12
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 2,981
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1178607
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/applefish/pseuds/applefish
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>At first, Jack had thought it'd be an easy enough thing to ask.<br/>"Jamie and Caleb are getting married! Want to be my plus one?"</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

At first, Jack had thought it'd be an easy enough thing to ask.

_Jamie and Caleb are getting married! Want to be my plus one?_

Or something. Easy. Then it occurred to him that Pitch might not remember the children of Burgess, considering he'd apparently spent the last several years trying to forget the whole episode.

_You remember Jamie and his friends? The ones who stood up to you and led to your humiliating ass-kicking? Well, we've been invited to their wedding!_

No. No, if he brought any of that up he'd never have sex again, assuming Pitch let him keep his genitals at all. They had an unspoken agreement, a truce that was shaky at the best of times. No. If Jack wanted Pitch to accompany him to the wedding, he'd have to avoid any discussion of that period. And he'd have to make it worth Pitch's while.

 

"Why do you want him to come at all?" Jamie asked. He cradled his coffee cup in his right hand, a stack of RSVPs strewn across the kitchen counter before him. They sat side by side in the kitchen of Jamie’s tiny rented house, drinking coffee from the new midnight blue cups Pippa had given Jamie and Caleb for their engagement. "The other Guardians have all said they're coming. Won't that be, y'know, weird?"

"No weirder than asking Santa and the Tooth Fairy to your wedding. How're you going to explain that, by the way?"

Jamie shrugged. "Caleb was okay with it."

"I _meant_ the empty seats at the reception."

"We're seating you in a back corner. Not 'cause we don't love you or anything, just, y'know. Less explaining. Besides, Monty and Cupcake's kids'll get a kick out of it." He gave Jack flat look. "Anyway, stop trying to derail the conversation. Why do you need Pitch to come?"

"I didn't say I _needed_ – “

"Then why the angst? Seriously, you've been sitting in my kitchen for – " Jamie made a show of checking his smart phone " - forty-five minutes now. I didn't even know you were capable of sitting still that long."

"I just thought, since it's your wedding and all that stuff happened maybe I should run it by you...?" Jack waved his hands, unthinking, and a tiny flurry of snowflakes cascaded over the floor at his feet. Jamie looked at the melt water pointedly. Jack mumbled an apology and sat on his hands.

"Really? That's it? Forty five - no, wait, forty six now - minutes of snow in the kitchen just to make sure I'm okay with you and Pitch being whatever you two are?"

Jack couldn't quite suppress his grin. "You were always way too perceptive." He swung his feet a little and took a deep breath, because flattery didn't really work on Jamie. "So. So here's the thing. It's like, I can hardly explain to _you_ why this matters to me. And we've been friends longer than Pitch and I have been ..."

"Whatever you are."

"Right. So, if I can't really explain to you, how do I explain to him? Plus, you know, he doesn't socialise. At all. I kinda think I'll have to bribe him."

His coffee was room temperature. Jack let one of his hands out from under his legs and sipped it anyway. A little gust of wind from the open window spread the pile of RSVPs out more. One of them bumped against the heel of Jack's hand and he herded the scattered papers back into a pile. Jamie watched him quietly. Jack could kind of guess what he might be thinking: there was only one topic that they'd ever really struggled to talk about together.

"So ... uh, you're going to... offer to do the weird stuff or something?"

Jack choked. Jamie, tomato-red, chortled into a balled fist. And then they'd changed the subject to something safer. In the back of Jack's mind, though, he still tried to work out exactly how he'd go about broaching the subject of the wedding invitation with Pitch.

 

Which was roughly why the evening found him straddling Pitch’s hips, their clothes flung over the floor and the bedclothes rumpled under Pitch’s back. Jack had decided, eventually, that Pitch may be more open to bribery if he were in a good mood, and nothing brought out good moods in him quite like sex. Jack lay with his head resting against Pitch's collarbone, face tucked under his chin and his legs, bent at the knees, spread wide either side of him. One of Pitch's hands still rested low on Jack's back, while the other stroked the inside of Jack's thigh languidly - high enough to brush the curve of his arse. Sweat pooled between them in the concave of Pitch's belly. Jack sighed and ran a hand over Pitch's ribs, smiled at the twitch of his muscles.

It was a shame to ruin such a peaceful mood. "Pitch...?"

"Mmm?" The low hum vibrated beneath Jack's cheek.

"I've been invited to a wedding..."

"Oh?" Pitch gently bumped Jack's forehead with the cut of his jaw in an almost-kiss.

"Yeah. I, uh. I wondered if you'd... if you'd like to be my date?"

"Is that what you've been fretting over all week?" Pitch drummed the fingers of the hand on Jack's back lightly.

"Was it that obvious?"

"You're less subtle than you think." He shifted his hips pleasantly and Jack sighed at the humidity of him. "Now what _aren't_ you telling me? A party seems like the last thing that'd worry you."

"It's. It's... Jamie's wedding." Every one of Pitch's muscles tensed and the hand on Jack's inner thigh stilled. In their current position, Pitch’s fingernails were dangerously close to the delicate skin behind his balls in. Crap."You don't have to come, he's said he'd like it if you were there, Caleb did too, but no one will hold it against you if you don't want to come and I'll understand if you don't want to see the others, they're coming too, you know, why don't we just forget I brought it up and have sex again -"

"Shut up." Jack groaned and turned his face into Pitch's neck.

"I'm in trouble now, aren't I?" he said, voice muffled. Pitch didn't answer and Jack's stomach dropped. He comforted himself that Pitch hadn't moved or thrown him out yet. Or clawed him. After several harrowing minutes of silence, where Jack was certain his stomach knotted tighter with each passing breath, Pitch rumbled back to life.

"Will there be an open bar?"

"What?"

Pitch's jaw bumped the side of his head again. "Will there be an open bar?"

"I - yes?"

"Then I'll come."

"Huh?" Jack propped himself up with his elbows either side of Pitch's ribs, careful not to dislodge the hand on his back or the one that had resumed trailing over the inside of his thigh. Pitch cocked an eyebrow at him.

"If there is an open bar," he said slowly "then I will come with you. I expect I'll need a drink if your other Guardians are there."

"That -that's it?" Jack grinned. Relief bubbled like trapped laughter in his chest. "I thought you'd - you'd throw me out or, or I'd have to bribe you or -”

"I would be amenable to bribery, is it still an option?"

"I - I guess - ?"

"Good. I want to fuck you at the reception."

Jack stared at him, grin sliding slowly from his face. He pretended that his cock hadn’t twitched, was privately proud of himself for having the energy after all. Pitch's expression remained impassive.

"You want to... but... Jamie will be there!"

"He's twenty-five years old, Jack."

"Twenty-seven!"

"Hardly a child any more. Besides, I don't plan on throwing you over the table." Pitch looked thoughtful. "Although..."

"No! Do not follow that train of thought."

Finally, Pitch's lips quirked, just a little. "No. I was thinking more along the lines of a dark corner."

"Why?"

"Well if you'd _prefer_ the table -”

" _No_ , why do you want to have sex at the reception at all? Can't you just wait till we get home?"

"That's no fun," Pitch gave a sharp tap to Jack's arse. "I want to see the look on the Guardians' faces when they see what we've been up to." He grinned wolfishly. "They may have your loyalty, but I have your -”

"You've given this some thought haven't you." Jack said flatly. He collapsed back onto Pitch's chest, face down in the crook of his neck.

"It's what I get off to when you're not around."

"I didn't need to know that."

"Of course you did." Pitch's voice sounded entirely too entertained for Jack's liking. "So do I get my bribe?"

"... Yes. I will have sex with you at the reception. Just," Jack lifted his head again, glaring at Pitch "there'll be kids there. Wait until late-ish. After they've gone to bed.”

"Fine. No show until after bedtime." He pushed gently at the back of Jack's head until he lay back down and returned his hand to its place in the small of his back. He hummed lowly, a tune that might have been an ancient dirge or a death metal ballad. It was sometimes hard to tell with Pitch.

Jack had just managed to slip into a dozy reverie when Pitch spoke again.

"I wonder how I'll get the bartender to mix me a martini if he can't see me."

 


	2. Chapter Two

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> When he's drunk, Pitch says whatever comes to mind. He will not shut up. Jack didn’t know that before, but he certainly does now.

The day started well, anyway.

Tooth had clucked disapprovingly, weeks ago, when Jack said he’d just wear his usual clothes to the wedding. In his defense, people didn’t really have the money to dress fancily where he grew up, even for weddings. So North had made him a new outfit, one that was lightweight and easy to move around in, made of fine cotton and painted silk in blues and silver. Jack had seen portraits of the young North, and Jack’s new clothes looked like something he’d have worn. Mercifully, North hadn’t bothered with shoes. Even Pitch thought Jack looked good. At least, Jack assumed that was what he thought: Pitch had made an odd, choked off noise in his throat and stared unblinkingly at him for slightly longer than was really comfortable. Over the last decade, Jack had decided that this was Pitch’s way of expressing approval.

_Pitch_ had looked good. Apparently, _he_ knew that people usually dressed up for weddings - Jack wondered how _Pitch_ of all people knew that and _he_ didn’t – and so he’d pulled out a rather fetching black velvet robe with delicate gold thread embroidery. It hid his arse, which was kind of a crime, but Jack supposed he could enjoy that later.

Jack didn’t sleep the night before the wedding. Instead, he flitted around continental Europe and caused spasmodic snow storms from Moscow to Athens. Both Pitch and the other Guardians had promised to behave, especially after Jack had sternly ( _stern_? Fuck’s sake, he was starting to sound like someone’s parent) told them that the day was about Jamie, not them. In spite of everyone’s promises, Jack was still nervous. He told himself it wasn’t that he didn’t trust them, it was that he owed everyone favours now. Big ones. Except North, for some reason.

The reason became clear when they arrived at the wedding venue – he’d brought his swords.

“For decorative purpose only!” he said at Jack’s look.

Swords aside, the meeting was mostly civil. Tooth gave Pitch a strained smile before darting away; North actually clapped him on the shoulder (“I think my arm is dislocated,” Pitch grumbled, sotto voce, to Jack); and even Sandy managed a curt nod. Bunny surprised Jack most of all. He’d apparently reached a kind of plateau of loathing. He didn’t glare, or raise his voice. He’d even left his boomerangs behind. There was only one outward indication of just how much he detested Pitch: casual abuse.

“Pitch. How are you, ya fuck nugget?” Bunny greeted him, his tone and affect perfectly gracious.

Jack couldn’t exactly fault him for it. He was kind of impressed.

Yes. Things had _started_ well. And then Pitch got his martini. Several times. And now he wouldn’t stop talking. It started, four drinks in, with telling Sandman, in exquisite detail, about a nightmare he’d given Jack a month before they’d started sleeping together.

“Have you ever had one of those dreams, Little Man, where you’re terrified but also strangely aroused throughout and upon waking?”

Nothing Sandy did – shaking his head; frantically signing _I don’t care shut up no really stop_ ; and throwing increasingly larger handfuls of dreamsand, all of which turned into wicked miniature horses that galloped away over the dance floor upon contact with Pitch – would deter him. Finally, he got out of his chair and raced toward the bar, leaving Pitch in mid-sentence.

“Rude,” Pitch said mildly, and took another sip from his drink.

Later, having done a slow circuit of their table and chattering happily at anyone who made eye contact with him, Pitch slouched elegantly back into his seat beside Jack, a nearly empty cocktail glass in his fingertips, and _actually shut up_. Mostly because he'd made pointed eye-contact with North, and had begun to suck on the olive from his martini suggestively. Jack ignored him and managed to have a halfway decent conversation with Tooth. Until he felt a bony finger prod his cheek. He glanced at Pitch.

“Jack. Jack. There is a child staring at me. _Staring_.” The cocktail glass was empty now. Pitch sat it on the table in front of him, beside the remains of chocolate mousse they’d had for dessert. (Pitch had insisted on sharing with Jack. He'd stolen Jack's spoon so that he could feed him, too).

“Congratulations,” Jack said. Pitch made a sour face.

“I’ve tried scaring it, but it won’t go away.”

“ _It_ is called _Zoe_ ,” Jack sighed. Tooth bristled on his other side, her wings rustling dangerously. Jack squeezed her hand placatingly.

“They’re supposed to be scared of me,” Pitch said as though he hadn’t heard him. “Normally they’re scared of me. What’s wrong with this one? Is it broken?” He turned sharply to the child, who was indeed staring at him with something approaching silent awe. Or glee. She was wearing a very small version of the red dress the heroine of _Beetlejuice_ wore in the wedding scene. “Child. Are you broken?”

“No,” she said. She beamed at him. “Sophie says you’re the Boogerman.”

“Boogeyman,” Pitch said haughtily. Jack sniggered. Trust Sophie. She was still a funny kid, even as an adult.

“What’s in the glass?” Zoe asked.

“ _Boogers_ ,” Tooth muttered to Jack. 

“Nothing,” Pitch said with an affectation of deepest woe. “But you can fix that. In fact it may save both our lives.” He handed his empty glass to Zoe. “Take that to the bar and ask them for a refill. Tell them if they don’t do it the Boogeyman will eat you up.”

“Okay,” said Zoe cheerily. She skipped away, singing the theme from _Ruby Gloom_.

A heavy silence covered the table. Pitch hummed – definitely death metal this time, Jack thought.

“You. You just sent a five-year-old to get you gin,” said Bunny. “You shit nugget.”

“The joys of having believers,” Pitch said.

“Is not joy of -!” North began, but Pitch cut him off.

“May I have this dance?” he didn’t wait for an answer; he grasped Jack’s hand and surged to his feet. “I can’t let this evening pass without at least one.” He gave Tooth his most terrifying smile. “I’m afraid you’ll have to wait, Your Highness.”

“Oh. What a shame.” Tooth had a rare talent for deadpan expressions. The longer he knew her, the more Jack loved her for it. He didn’t have long to appreciate it, however, as Pitch swept them out onto the dance floor, keeping to the edges so that they wouldn’t have to worry about being walked through, and drew Jack close.

“This isn’t a slow song,” Jack said.

Pitch’s hands rested on his hips, gently directing him to sway a beat out of time to the music. He twirled them, somehow without breaking contact with Jack, and rested his chin on the top of Jack’s head.

“We’re the only people dancing like this, you idiot,” Jack told him. He had his back toward their table, so he could see out across the room. Through the crowd, he caught sight of Jamie dancing in a loose cluster of people. Jamie caught his eye and grinned.

“Nice dancing,” he mouthed.

Jack rolled his eyes and rested his hands at the small of Pitch’s back. Slowly, casually, one of Pitch’s hands trailed from his hip to cup his arse. In spite of himself, Jack made a noise somewhere between a moan and a laugh.

“You know, there’re still about three kids in the room that can see me.” He glanced over his shoulder to their table. “Not to mention, y’know, my _friends_.”

Pitch rumbled happily at him.

“I think I just gave the rabbit an aneurysm.”

“You’re using me to get some kind of drunken revenge on the other guardians, aren’t you?”

“No, no. Well, yes, but since we started fucking I thought I should modify my vengeance to mere trauma.”

“What?” He poked Pitch just under his ribs.

“I had plans. Violent, _delightful_ , nightmarish –“

“I get it.”

“Plans. I think, now, that those might be… inadvisable.”

“Inadvisable, how?” Jack dragged his hands around to Pitch’s hips and forcibly pushed him away, just enough that he could look him in the eye without straining his neck. That hand still hadn’t moved from his arse.

“You’d be upset.”

A brief pause. Then Jack crushed himself back against Pitch.

“That’s the most romantic thing you’ve ever said to me.” He rested his head against Pitch’s clavicle.

“Does that mean you’re ready for my bribe?” Pitch leered down at him.

“Pick a place, I’ll take my pants off.”

“Excellent.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I shied away from actually writing the "bribe" bit, although I do have a rough idea of what happens. Um. I can write it up, if anyone's like, desperate and suffering without it, but otherwise this thing is done :)

**Author's Note:**

> The conversation went a bit like this: "Whose wedding would they be going to? Jamie's?"  
> "Jack would. Pitch would have to be bribed. There would have to be an open bar."  
> Cue 'Love Is An Open Door' in my head.  
> That's how this stupid bloody idea happened.


End file.
